


i could be lonely with you

by dizkipling



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizkipling/pseuds/dizkipling
Summary: a dismal night out and a stranger's number might just be the best thing to happen to noah czerny





	i could be lonely with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JuliaRose12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaRose12/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JULIA! This is so belated but I hope you enjoyed it all the same!!
> 
> Title taken from lovelytheband's "Broken"

He felt the paper slip into his hand, felt the way his heart jumped as a pair of lips pressed a second longer against his upper jaw, the smell of whiskey lingering even after the boy pulled away. This was it, the moment all of the low-budget flicks that he had once watched with his sisters prepared him for. It was always the same: boy goes to bar, has a few drinks, meets someone, and by the end of the night walks away with a phone number ( _ or more, _ Noah reminded himself). They all lived happily ever after.

The moment came and went as the boy who had occupied so much of his time disappeared through a crowd of people nodding their heads along to a terrible song with a terrible beat. 

Noah finished his drink, the alcohol ebbing away at the nerves that continued to fester. He placed the piece of paper into the pocket of his jeans, double - triple - checking to make sure it was still there before pushing through the same crowd and out the door. The sounds of a forgettable evening followed him, terrible techno drifting down the street until Noah had put enough distance between himself and the bar. 

The air outside was humid. It was the kind of humidity that came from a fresh rain, the one that left the back of the neck sticky and the sinuses pulsing. Noah rubbed at the back of his own neck, grimacing at the slimey sensation. He also reeked of liquor. A regrettable and forgettable evening.

For a few minutes he allowed himself to wander, passing bar-goers and stragglers as he walked with no particular purpose. He moved up and down the same street, a stray kitten not knowing where to call home, until the rain began again and he found shelter under the roof of a bus stop.

The phone number tucked away in his pocket reminded him that the night wasn’t all bad.

People came and went as he waited for the bus, no one so much as batting an eye at the boy with the hollow eyes and sad smile. He caught the first bus back to Henrietta, anxious hands clicking and unclicking his lockscreen, hair still dripping from the recent rainfall. 

12:03.

_ Click _ .

12:04. 

_ Click _ .

It had been less than an hour since he left the bar, an appropriate time (he felt) to send a quick “I hope you got back safe” message. There would be no expectations, no risk of sounding needy. This would be Noah caring about the welfare of a person he had been in the company of for a period of time. A person, he feared, who wanted nothing to do with him.

12:07.

Noah slid open his phone, opening his messages before pulling out the crumpled number from his pocket and entering it into his phone. He checked and double checked the number, making sure no mistakes had been made. When he was satisfied, he began his composition, typing and retyping the same string of words in different arrangements. 

 

**6732:** I hope you made it home safely!

 

He hit send prematurely, quickly adding a:

 

**6732:** It’s Noah, by the way.

 

And then a:

 

**6732:** From the bar.

 

Cheeks burning and head not yet cleared from a night of drinking, Noah shoved his phone into his pocket, vowing not to take it out until he got off the bus. 

12:15. 

_ Click _ .

Still no response.  

The bus pulled in just after 1, Noah being the sole passenger to get off at the stop. The sound of cicadas greeted him, the streetlights covering the town in a hazy glow. Shops along the main road were closed, windows dark and uninviting. As he walked away from the heart of the town, he navigated through a fresh stretch of bar goers, people like him looking for a momentary escape. No matter the town, desperation could be smelled like liquor on the breath of the inhabitants. Noah kept his head down, not wanting to show himself to be just like everyone else wandering the streets that night, but slowed his pace until he reached his apartment. 

He didn’t worry about being quiet, knowing his roommate would still be up, clicking away at his computer and muttering things Noah never thought to ask about. 

1:14.

_ Click _ .

Trance-like he walked himself to the bathroom, undressing in front of a mirror that was in desperate need of a cleaning. His body was a study in skateboarding scars, a pale canvas that had seen bruises and broken bones. Once, a pretty girl had given him a hickey in a place he forgot to cover up. His mother had screamed, his sisters snickered. Now he stood there, bare, observing just a second longer before stepping into the shower. He kept the water cold and the shower short, not allowing his mind to wander beyond the discount shampoo and the lavender-smelling soap that he rubbed against himself. 

1:27. 

_ Nothing _ . 

Noah sat in bed that night with his phone under his pillow and with the knowledge planted firmly in his mind that the boy from the bar wanted nothing more than to prey on the desperation that radiated off of Noah’s body. He had become just like every other nobody in a rundown town, coming down from a momentary high only to find himself dismal and deserted.

 

* * *

Somewhere across town, Ronan Lynch ignored his phone. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure where he had placed the phone after the last time he decided to use it. What he did know was that his roommate, one Richard Campbell Gansey ( _ The Third _ ), had tried to call the number and that the calls went ignored, leaving the pair frustrated as they sought out the device. 

Gansey instructed Ronan to take better care of his living space, Ronan rolled his eyes when Gansey wasn’t looking and then again when he was. 

The search dragged on, Ronan groaning and Gansey  _ tsking _ . The entire ordeal lasted five minutes. 

Eventually the phone was found, shoved into the back of a desk drawer filled with incomplete assignments from his final year at Aglionby Academy and items Gansey was appalled to catch a glimpse of. It took a moment for the phone to turn on, but when it did, Ronan watched call after call from Gansey flash on the screen. Then, an unfamiliar number with unfamiliar messages. 

 

**6732:** I hope you made it home safely!

**6732:** It’s Noah, by the way.

**6732:** From the bar.

 

Ronan dropped his phone back on his desk, leaving the messages unattended to. He hadn’t been to the bar, never met a Noah, and most certainly did not give out his phone number.

Still, he was intrigued, found there to be a certain allure that came from receiving texts from a strange number at a strange time of day. 

He picked up the phone. 

For all the mischief and mayhem in Ronan Lynch’s life, there were never any lies - he did not believe in them. Ronan Lynch was a firm believer in a  _ no bullshit  _ way of living. That’s why, instead of playing along, of playing the part of the nameless bar goer, Ronan sent back: 

 

**4662:** you have the wrong number

 

The allure subsided, he felt his conscience cleanse itself. The phone went back to its place on the desk, abandoned as Ronan made his way to his bed. He would not sleep, not yet, thoughts of the person behind the phone number lingering at the edge of his consciousness. 

Then, a ding, a piercing sound against the quiet of Monmouth Manufacturing. From the desk, the phone glowed, dinging again as another message came through. The time now read 3:21 A.M. 

 

**6732:** This is embarrassing...

**6732:** I hope you have a nice night (or morning), sorry for bothering you 

 

**4662:** sorry you got fucked over 

 

**6732:** Haha, it’s not the first time.

**6732:** But I guess you didn’t need to know that.

 

Ronan debated responding, debated allowing himself to be opened up to (debated allowing himself to open up). The clock ticked on, flashing 3:31. 

 

**4662:** people suck

 

_ There _ , Ronan thought,  _ they can respond if they want.  _

 

**6732:** You don’t suck.

**6732:** You could have lied to me.

**6732:** I hope you didn’t lie to me…

**6732:** Sorry :/

 

**4662:** i dont lie

 

**6732:** If I asked for your name would you give it to me?

 

**4662:** ronan 

**4462:** lunch 

**4662:** lynch fuck

 

In that moment, Ronan felt his ears grow hot, felt his muscles tense as he stared at the screen. Here he was, talking to an unknown person in the early hours of the morning and he misspelled his own last name. 

_ Another reason to hate phones, _ Ronan thought to himself as he clicked off the device, setting it on his chest and waiting for the  _ ding _ of the incoming message to remind him of his mistake.  _ A verbal conversation wouldn’t have gone this way _ .

 

**6732:** Nice to meet you Ronan Lunch Lynch Fuck!

**6732:** Well not actually meet you…..

**6732:** I think I already told you my name’s Noah

**6732:** Noah Czerny

**6732:** Which is less cool than your name, Lynch Fuck

**6732:** God I’m sorry 

 

**4662:** wtf is happening 

 

For as strange as the conversation was, for as strange as Ronan felt with the tiny device close to his face so that he could read the messages before him, he wasn’t annoyed. Noah was not unlike a small kitten, easily excitable as he bounced from one topic to another. Ronan, all hard edges and razor-sharp grins, found the conversation to be oddly comforting. After only really having Gansey to talk to, Ronan was grateful for the change.

 

**6732:** I want to blame it on alcohol but I think I’m sober now

**6732:** So I guess I’ll blame it on myself 

 

**4662:** ur weird as fuck man 

 

**6732:** Sorry I ruined your night 

 

**4662:** not like i had anything else to do 

 

What he didn’t say was that he was alone. Gansey was tucked away in his room, or with Blue or with Henry (perhaps both). The thought of visiting Adam came and went when he remembered Adam would be asleep, desperately trying to rest before another long day of moving between jobs. 

What he didn’t say was that he couldn’t sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw his father, the unmoving body in the driveway of his family home. Sometimes he saw Kavinsky, saw the world burning like the liquor that scorched his throat. Then there were the dreams that hurt the most; the ones of Gansey, of Adam, abandoning him, leaving him like everyone always did.  _ It’s your fault _ , Ronan would tell himself, opening his eyes and wiping sweat off of his brow.  _ You don’t give anyone a reason to stay.  _

What he didn’t say was that he liked the company.

 

**6732:** I bet I at least gave you something to laugh at.

 

**4662:** u would have lost that bet 

 

**6732:** Thanks, I guess.

 

**4462:** isn’t this better than texting that shithead who gave you this number ¿

 

**6732:** I beginning to think I’m texting an even bigger shithead.

**6732:** I meant that as a compliment…..

 

**4462:** ur a shithead 2

 

**6732:** :) 

 

Alone in his room, Ronan let out a laugh. One real, genuine  _ ha  _ that had been asking to come out for so long. As the clock ticked on, now flashing 4:16, Ronan Lynch tucked the phone under his pillow and allowed himself to sleep soundly for the first time in months. 

 

* * *

 

Morning was met with headache and heartache as Noah reached for his phone only to find a single text from his roommate that read “ _ Out of eggs. Go buy some _ .” He swiped over to view his other messages, making sure he hadn’t missed anything from Ronan. Nothing. 

Noah set the device down and rolled over, face finding pillow as he attempted to block out the light coming in through the curtains. He would pull himself up, he would go to the store and buy a dozen goddamn eggs. He reached for his phone one more time and typed a quick message before rolling himself out of the tangled mess of sheets. 

 

**6732:** Sorry about the texts last night.

 

He readied himself quickly, and when there was no response on Ronan’s end, ventured into the muggy Henrietta afternoon with his head down and heart heavy. 

His phone dinged before he reached the convenience store, his roommate’s name flashing across the screen with an inpatient “ _ Did you get the eggs _ ” greeting Noah. 

Noah placed his phone back in his pocket, ignoring the second  _ ding _ until the eggs had been purchased and he was on his way back to the apartment. 

 

**4462:** ur weird as fuck but i don’t hate you 

 

Noah Czerny nearly dropped the eggs as he used his free hand to send back a quick “ _ Thanks? _ ”

 

**4462:** >:)

 

There was an allure to Ronan that Noah couldn’t seem to part with. The boy offered little in terms of conversation, and yet Noah felt comforted by the brevity. Maybe it was because they hadn’t met face to face or maybe it was because Noah sought a genuine connection so feverishly that he clung to Ronan’s texts. This was his chance for more. 

 

**6732:** Well I’m glad I didn’t scare you away! 

 

**4462:** im scarier than u

 

**6732:** Your texting is the scariest thing about you 

 

**4462:** >:-)

 

**6732:** XD

 

**4462:** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 

**6732:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

He was home now, eggs in fridge and roommate not bothering to offer a word of thanks as Noah snuck away to his room. This was his, a little moment alone in his room where he could sit and wait for Ronan to respond, misery and monotony being replaced by happiness, by hope.  

He waited a long time. 

He alternated between scrolling through social media accounts he never posted on and whatever level of  _ Candy Crush _ had been giving him fits for weeks, checking his messages every so often in hopes of something from Ronan. After the  _ 10% Battery Remaining  _ notification popped up, he tossed his phone onto the edge of the bed, the device teetering for the smallest second before crashing onto the floor. Noah didn’t bother to retrieve it. 

Eventually Noah got himself up, plugged in his phone. A notification letting him know he had an hour of unlimited lives in  _ Candy Crush _ was his only greeting. He cleared the notification and walked himself to the kitchen, opening the fridge to find the eggs untouched.

He bit back every awful thought forming in his mind and took out a two-day old pizza box instead, grabbing the final slice of a once-delticable Nino’s Pizza and eating it cold.  _ Things _ , Noah mused,  _ are typically better fresh _ .

He could feel himself slipping away, drifting like a ghost in and out of people’s lives.  _ I was more when I was alive _ .  _ More _ , he used to be  _ more _ . Back when he saw himself finding a steady job, finding a real home to live in and someone to live with. (Finding someone to love, to be loved by someone). Now, he had a boy’s phone number and a sickening feeling as the sun sunk lower and lower in the sky. He had wasted an entire day waiting for a stranger to text back.

_ More _ . 

 

**6732:** Would it be weird if we met?

 

He gave himself this, a single moment of courage, a moment to feel alive. He felt like the Noah Czerny who came home from the skatepark with bloodied knees and a grin on his face; the Noah Czerny who picked up his date to the senior prom with Blink-182 blasting from the stereo and his mother’s schnapps in the backseat. The Noah Czerny who desperately wanted to kiss Ronan Lynch. 

His phone buzzed, the name on the screen reading  _ Ronan >:).  _

 

**4662:** b less weird than texting 

 

Noah Czerny was alive.

 

* * *

They agreed to meet outside of one of the many rundown bars that lined Henrietta’s main road. Ronan, sweaty palms pushed firmly into the pockets of his jeans, swore as the clock tower chimed 9. He was officially late. He pushed through the few stragglers on the sidewalk, offering them no words of apology as he continued onward. 

“Ronan?” 

He turned in time to see a gaunt and ghostly looking boy walking toward him.  _ Noah _ . Ronan kept his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave a small nod. Without a screen to hide behind, his nerves were telegraphed, body becoming an open book for Noah to study. 

“Do you want to maybe go in?” Noah asked, gesturing to the door a couple had just walked through. 

“No.” Ronan responded, because he didn’t. He didn’t want to spend the night pressed against sweaty bodies, fighting to be heard over music he couldn’t even pretend to like. The liquor was overpriced, the atmosphere of the bar unsettling. “Come with me.”

He began walking back the way he came, not checking to see if Noah was following. The careful footsteps falling into stride beside him told Ronan that the night was not yet over for the two of them. 

They walked together in silence down the road, the sounds of passing cars and cicadas removing any air of awkwardness or unease. Despite the minimal words exchanged between the pair, Ronan took comfort in having Noah by his side. It was as if he was being remade, having been undone for so long. 

He tripped on the uneven pavement, the sounds of his swears a contrast against the silvery laughter that came from Noah. 

“Real fucking funny.” Ronan said, though his tone was not unkind as he turned and studied Noah’s face. Noah, who’s smile only widened as Ronan’s own sharp-toothed grin betrayed the anger he hoped to convey. 

“Sorry.” 

Ronan shook his head and continued on, he and Noah drifting back into silence as they reached the building Ronan and Gansey lived in. Instead of taking him inside, Ronan brought him to a poorly parked car in a lot overrun by weeds and potholes. He opened up the driver’s side door, a manic grin on his face as he asked “What, you’ll text a stranger’s number but you won’t get into a stranger’s car?” 

The smile on Noah’s face as he opened the passenger’s side door pulled at something inside Ronan, as if the Tin Man had a heart after all. 

Keys met ignition and as the car roared to life, the sound of Ronan’s terrible techno pounded through the stereo. 

_ Squash One, Squash Two - _

“Squash Three.” It was Noah’s voice, in time with the song. 

Ronan pulled out of the lot, one hand thrown around the the passenger's seat and eyes burning like gasoline struck by a flame. He was, in every sense of the word, alive. 

He drove them first to the parking lot at the former site of a strip mall that had been run out of business by the blue and yellow devil (as Ronan called it). It was a place Ronan went to get away, a place where he could go to wear out his car’s tires as he went round and round without the constant fear of the Henrietta Police Department ruining his fun.

His laughter echoed the ignition, body coming alive as the speedometer crept higher and higher and higher. Noah’s face told a similar story. 

Then they were laughing, really truly laughing, as Ronan turned up the stereo and pulled the car out of the parking lot, bodies itching to explore more of Henrietta. They were triumphant. 

They were happy.

The night was them dashing around the aisles of convenience stores, Ronan asking “The fuck is that?” as Noah held up a package advertising a worm on a string. Ronan buying the creature when Noah wasn’t looking, offering it up as the two leaned against the hood of Ronan’s car, lights from the parking lot throwing the world into a hazy glow.

The night was Noah leaning over to press his lips against Ronan’s cheek, a gesture so soft he wasn’t sure Ronan felt it. It was Ronan pulling Noah into the car, hands and lips and bodies meeting as the world around them continued to drift by.

It was Ronan Lynch and Noah Czerny waking up tangled in the same sheets to the sound of a summer rain tapping softly against the windows, unsure of the future but keeping this moment for themselves.


End file.
